


Strange How the Half Light

by aheavenlyrush



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alien Harry, Fluff, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-08
Updated: 2017-09-08
Packaged: 2018-12-25 07:59:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12031560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aheavenlyrush/pseuds/aheavenlyrush
Summary: It’s been two weeks now. Two weeks of tossing and turning in his bed, waking up sticky with sweat, head pounding.“Your moon is so different from mine, did you know?” the boy, Harry, murmurs, and Louis flushes red, glad the dark of the night hides the blush on his cheeks. Thinking about sweaty nights thrashing around in his bed isn’t the best idea right now. Not here, next to this boy. Some mornings, Louis could swear he wakes up with Harry’s scent on his pillow.In the light of the moon, Harry tells stories about the places beyond the stars, and Louis wonders about the curve of his lips.





	Strange How the Half Light

**Author's Note:**

  * For [letsjustsee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/letsjustsee/gifts).



> Wow, okay. This was such a lovely prompt, I hope the end result is adequate.
> 
> My beta [E](http://polkadotsvstripes.tumblr.com) is the real hero here. <3 Seriously, she's the reason this fic exists, she got me through some serious existential dread and self-doubt during the writing process and I can't thank her enough for that.

After sunset, the sound of the desert changes.

Bird song, bright and golden like the warmth emanating off ancient stone pillars standing in the sun turns into melancholy hoots and soft rustling in the bushes; the sorrowful cry of a lone coyote pierces through the chirping of crickets, tugging at a part of your heart you’ve almost forgot existed. Louis drinks it all in, revels in the absence of chaotic noise.

He tugs at his sleeves, chancing a glance at the boy next to him, glowing in the light of the moon, and wonders.

He wonders about the stories the boy tells, about shimmering pink skies and lakes of gold, of nights filled with the light of three moons. He wonders about the tinge of sadness in the boy’s voice when he talks about his family, about his mother with the patient, loving nature and his sister with the wild spirit. Most of all, he wonders about the curve of the boy’s bottom lip, about the insistent buzzing under Louis’ skin that gets stronger the more time Louis spends with him.

It’s been two weeks now. Two weeks of tossing and turning in his bed, waking up sticky with sweat, head pounding.

“Your moon is so different from mine, did you know?” the boy, Harry, murmurs, and Louis flushes red, glad the dark of the night hides the blush on his cheeks. Thinking about sweaty nights thrashing around in his bed isn’t the best idea right now. Not here, next to this boy. Some mornings, Louis could swear he wakes up with Harry’s scent on his pillow.

Which, ridiculous. How would he even be familiar with Harry’s scent after just two weeks?

Louis feels the weight of Harry’s stare on his skin and turns to him, biting his lip nervously. “Um, what?”

Harry tilts his head, eyes roaming over Louis’ face. It feels a bit like burning, flames caressing his face carefully, gliding over his cheekbones, tickling under his jaw. Louis can’t help the soft whine that escapes his mouth, eyes widening when he realises he actually let it out. Judging by the look of bewilderment on Harry’s face, it was loud enough for him to hear it, too.

“Sorry, I was just thinking about…” Louis stutters, trying to come up with a good excuse to cover up his act, “work. I was thinking about work.” And, what?

Harry furrows his brow in confusion. Even the owls have fallen silent, as if they, too, are curious to hear how Louis is going to explain this. Louis clenches his fists and looks up at the stars in the hopes of finding an answer there. The stars twinkle back at him, indifferent.

“Yeah,” he laughs, the sound strangled. “Work has been really stressful lately, and my brain’s a little fried. I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” Harry hums, raising his voice a slightly. “There’s no need to apologise. You can tell me about work, if you want to. I know I ramble too much, feel free to stop me any time.”

There’s quite literally nothing Louis wants to talk about less than his dull, predictable job in customer service. Well — other than his dreams of soft, fluttery kisses traveling up his neck, the nibble of teeth on his jaw, the pressure of fingers on his waist, anchoring him. Louis steals a look at Harry’s hands, the way they’re sitting on his thighs, fingers splayed.

“No. Tell me a story.” Louis pauses, playing with his fringe. “Please.”

Somewhere in the distance, a raven swoops in the air, croaking. Harry licks his lips and talks about the green clouds of the monsoon season, about yellow rain that made everything bloom and smell like cotton candy. He talks about how he used to run around in the rain with his sister, catching sweet droplets on his tongue.

The sky, littered with stars, is magnificent, but Louis can’t keep his eyes off Harry.

He watches as Harry’s eyes light up and his face grows animated, hands waving around excitedly. His eyes fall on the dip in Harry’s cheek, the curve of his smile, the curl of hair tugged behind his ear. When Harry mentions his father, his face turns sombre, the corners of his mouth tugging down. Louis wants to reach over, wants to brush his finger over Harry’s cheekbones and soothe him.

And that — that messes with his head a bit. At what point did he become protective of this boy he’s only known for a handful of days? This, Louis thinks, heart racing, this is dangerous.

Harry keeps talking, though, and eventually, the soft rumble of his voice settles something inside Louis, the warmth radiating from him making things a little hazy. Louis wraps his arms around his knees, eyelids drooping. As his eyes drift shut, he thinks he hears the flop of wings above them, but it all blurs into a soft hum and then he’s gone, falling into a gentle slumber.

 

***

 

The night around him is tinged with red. Still.

So devoid of sound his breath cracks across air like a dry bolt of lightning.

The stars seem dimmed, flickering as if they’re about to burn out any minute.

Louis peers into his hands; they’re covered in a black, velvety liquid that glimmers, brighter than the stars.

The drip, drip, drip as it falls on the ground echoes in his head.

There’s a hollow below him; he’s standing on a floating platform, and it wobbles when he takes a startled step back.

He’s going to fall, he knows.

Louis closes his eyes, wonders if he should just let go and jump. There’s nowhere to go, nothing to hold on to.

The night has a bitter, sharp taste to it.

His foot slips, rocks skittering past the edge of the platform, plummeting down, down, down. He doesn’t hear them hit the ground.

Lifting his chin up, Louis steps off the edge.

 

***

 

There’s something in his hair, and Louis swats at it blindly as he wakes, grumbling. He hears a gasp, followed by a muted chuckle, and his eyes flash open. Oh, god.

With jerky movements, Louis pries himself off Harry’s side, nearly falling over in his haste. Wiping at his mouth furiously, he inspects the damage — by the looks of it, he’d fallen asleep and practically nuzzled into Harry, like some sort of a touch-starved kitten. He can’t see clearly in the dark, but he’s pretty sure he’s also managed to drool on Harry’s shirt. Shit.

“Um,” Harry starts, sounding uncertain, and Louis hides his face in his hands, mortification washing over him in waves. “I’m sorry about that — touching your hair, I mean. It’s just, you seemed to be having a bad dream, so I tried to wake you up. You talked a little, in your sleep.”

Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no, no, no.

He was sleep-talking? He used to do that, when he was a child. He thought he’d grown out of it, though, since no one had ever mentioned it after spending the night with him.

Louis makes a face at that thought; he hasn’t really shared a bed with anyone in a long time, not interested in anything meaningless, not ready to share parts of himself. Besides, he has trouble falling asleep next to someone — the few times he’s tried, he spent the night drifting in and out of consciousness, waking up groggy and cross in the morning, wishing he’d had the bed all to himself.

Falling asleep out in the desert, with someone he’s only just met? It makes no sense. It makes Louis’ palms clammy, and he wants to run away, wants to duck and hide; he wants to stay and crowd into Harry's space, wants to touch and lose himself in the burn of it.

“What did I say?” Louis asks, pulse rabbiting. He can’t remember what he was dreaming about, but his mind flashes back to tangled sheets and sweaty skin. All the things he could’ve said in his sleep—

“Most of it was nonsense,” Harry assures quickly, meeting Louis’ eyes. “You said my name, though.” His voice turns soft, the lilt of it hopeful, somehow.

Louis swallows, avoiding Harry's gaze. “Oh. I— I don't remember any of it. I don't remember falling asleep, either.” It's a lie, of course. He remembers feeling warm and safe, being lulled into sleep by the steady tenor of Harry's voice.

The silence that falls between them is strained. Louis peers at Harry, tries to read his expression, but all he can make out is the smooth line of his jaw, the soft slope of his nose. It’s a little maddening, how beautiful Harry is.

He wants Harry to be touching him. He wants his hands, wants his lips, wants all of him, really.

“You don’t have to apologise for that. For touching my hair, uh—”

Louis doesn’t know how to deal with this kind of want. He knows how to deal with the opposite, knows how to make people go away. Knows how to make people go away when he wants them to stay, too. In fact, he excels at that.

The thought of Harry going away makes a sick feeling settle in his stomach.

This time, when he senses Harry looking at him, he feels cold, because what if Harry does leave? What if he leaves, and Louis never opens his mouth, never tells him anything real? That’s how it goes: Harry talks, and Louis listens. Harry glows, and Louis smolders.

“Louis.”

Louis squints his eyes closed, knows he’s being silly, but. He can’t deal with this. It’s too much, it’s too soon, and he’s going to ignore it. He’s going to count to ten, and not feel like his heart is beating out of his chest.

“Louis, can you just. Can you look at me?”

Hunching up his shoulders, Louis lifts his gaze to meet Harry's eyes - and promptly loses his breath. Harry's features are soft under the light of the moon, his skin close to translucent, but the way he looks at Louis is so intense, it's almost a little frightening. He doesn't move, doesn't even seem to blink. There's a question there, in Harry's gaze.

It’s something like: I traveled light years to find you, do you want to be found?

Louis sways, wind ruffling his hair. Then, slowly, he reaches out, fingertips brushing over Harry’s cheekbone. Harry stills, closing his eyes, and Louis has a brief moment of panic — he didn’t have the permission to do that did he, he read the situation wrong, he shouldn’t have — until he feels Harry push his cheek back against his hand, a pressure that’s barely there.

It breaks something inside Louis, shifts things into better focus. He knows, now. He knows he can't run away from this; he doesn't want to, either. Harry's cheek is soft under his fingertips, the warmth of him grounding, somehow.

“Come home with me?” Louis whispers.

The sound of his voice is so faint, it's nearly drowned out by the wind. Harry hears it, though, and opens his eyes, the look in them searching. A few seconds of silence go by — Louis feels a little naked under the scrutiny, has to fight the urge to duck his head — and then, Harry’s face brightens, a tentative smile taking over.

“Okay.”

 

***

 

The buzzing under Louis’ skin burns hotter in the confined space of his car, the silence making him feel dizzy and slightly wrong-footed. He puts the radio on, and the car fills with the sound of white noise. Louis frowns, tries flipping through different channels.

“Um,” Harry starts, sounding embarrassed, “that’s probably my fault.”

Louis peers at him, confused. How could this possibly be Harry’s fault?

“I, uh— it’s the electromagnetic field, I’m pretty sure. My sister warned me about this, said that radio signals sometimes get messed up around us. I don’t know how to explain it, really, I think it has something to do with waves and frequencies? I’m terrible at physics,” Harry stammers, rubbing the nape of his neck.

Louis hums, mulling it over. It’s not really that shocking a revelation, not after he’s heard so many of Harry’s stories about the places beyond the stars. Makes sense that his body would be a little different on the inside. Although—

Once the thought enters his head, he can’t get rid of it. “Harry,” he starts, tapping his fingers on the wheel, “you’re not like — you’re not telepathic or anything, right?”

There’s a short, loaded silence, and then, soft giggles bubbling out of Harry’s mouth. “No, Louis. I’m definitely not telepathic. I don’t have any super powers.”

Louis should feel more embarrassed, probably, but looking at Harry’s scrunched up, open face and hearing his giggles, the corners of his mouth quirk up involuntarily. Fuck, but that’s cute. Harry has dimples, too, and he looks like some sort of a fluffy, angelic nightmare. Louis bites his bottom lip, drawing blood.

The air feels lighter after that, the buzzing under Louis’ skin settling into a low hum. The road stretches ahead under the yellow glow of the highway lights and Louis lets his mind wander, occasionally stealing glances at Harry, who's staring out of the window, a far-away look on his face. It makes Louis wonder.

“What does this world look like, through your eyes?” he asks, curious.

Harry shifts, turning his body towards Louis, and hums. “That’s… I’m not sure how to answer that. I’ve only just got here, and I’ve only seen this one place, but I think the desert is beautiful.” He grins. “The people are, too.”

Louis’ face burns at that, and he goes quiet. Harry goes back to looking out of the window, and the rest of the drive is silent.

 

***

 

A gentle breeze ruffles the hedges on Louis’ driveway as they step out of the car, their footsteps echoing loud in the stillness. The walk from Louis’ car to his door feels a little unreal, as if they've slipped through a wormhole and entered some other dimension. For a second, it feels like they’re the only living, breathing beings on the planet — then a squirrel shoots past them, tail twitching, its high-pitched chitter-chatter call sounding a lot like an accusation.

When they reach the door, Louis runs a hand through his hair and takes a steadying breath. God, he hopes he remembered to throw those peaches out. There's nothing quite like the smell of rotting fruit to bring you hurtling back to unpleasant reality.

Opening the door, Louis sniffs the air, trying to be stealthy about it. The smell is clean, if a bit stuffy, and Louis smiles in relief, flicking the lights on. “Sorry about the mess. We had a game night last weekend, I haven’t managed to find the time to clean yet.” Louis waves his hand at the pizza boxes next to the couch and picks up two empty bottles of beer, striding towards the kitchen.

Harry trails behind him, and something about the way he moves around tentatively, eyes roaming over the room in fascination, makes Louis’ stomach flip. “Would you like something to drink?” he asks, shuffling through the kitchen cabinets, standing on his tiptoes. 

“Coffee? Tea? I have to be honest, I only have instant coffee here, I’m not really a fan of coffee. I only drink it if I desperately need to keep myself awake. I’m pretty sure I wrote 90% of my college essays fueled by a caffeine haze and last minute panic. Black coffee tastes like shit, though, how do people manage it?” Louis hands are a bit shaky as he rambles on, the pitch of his voice rising. “But I have good tea, even some herbal stuff if that’s what you’re into. Peppermint, maybe chamomile—”

There’s a soft touch on his lower back, and Louis freezes, swallowing thickly.

“I’ll just have whatever you’re having,” Harry murmurs, moving his index finger back and forth, sending shivers down Louis’ spine. 

Louis takes a shuddery breath, and turns around. “Black tea alright, then?”

Harry nods, eyes burning into Louis, hand on his hip. His eyes are a lovely, dark shade of green, made all the more striking by the black rings around his irises. He looks a little wild. 

Louis bites his lip and takes a step to the side, just a bit out of Harry’s reach, and focuses on filling up the electric kettle with water. It’s not that he doesn’t want to be touched — his whole body is essentially vibrating after the soft touch, craving for more — but he’s too on edge, needs to get his bearings, if just for a few minutes. The simple, ordinary act of making tea is soothing; it grounds him, reminds him of the times he’s sat around the kitchen table with his sisters, sipping tea and sharing stories.

“Do you miss your sister?” Louis asks, handing Harry a cup of tea and sitting down.

“Sometimes, yeah. But I’m used to not seeing her often, she’s always traveling to new star systems, looking for new adventures. She gets restless if she stays in one place too long.” Harry pauses, and blows into his tea. “I love her a lot, but in some ways we’re so different from each other. I enjoy traveling, too, but I’ve realised it feels a little empty when you’re on your own, you know? I want to share the experience with someone.”

It makes sense, Louis thinks. “I think I’m the same way. I mean, I haven’t traveled like you have, but I’ve had my fair share of empty hotel rooms. I swear, sometimes it feels like the void of those places seeps in. Like it hollows out a part of your soul, and then you have to spend days trying to patch yourself together.”

Harry hums in agreement, and they sit there, drinking tea across from each other, soft smiles on their faces. Something warm settles in Louis’ stomach.

And so, when Louis takes Harry by the hand and guides him to the bedroom, it feels like something right clicking into place. The glow of streetlights paints the room yellow-white, the bed in the middle unmade as usual; Louis stills at the sight of it and turns towards Harry.

“Did you want to borrow a pair of sweats, or something? I usually sleep with just my boxers on, so I don’t have pajamas to give you.” Louis shrugs, apologetic. “Not that you have to wear pants, um— whatever you’re comfortable with is fine by me.”

“Okay. Well,” Harry clears his throat, “I don’t wear pajamas to bed either, so—”

“Yeah. Alright, that’s— that’s cool.” Louis lets out a nervous laugh, ears turning red. His mouth turns a little dry, and it’s kind of ridiculous, but he can’t help it. He hadn’t even known the color of Harry’s eyes until an hour ago, so he’s allowed to be a little nervous, isn’t he?

Mentally slapping himself, Louis tiptoes to the bathroom, locking the door behind him. He stares at his expression in the mirror while washing his hands, spots of red high on his cheeks, making him look feverish. Relax, he tells himself, he’s just a boy. You can do this.

Louis fixes his fringe and peeks out of the bathroom. “Hey, so I don’t have a spare brush, but you can always use my toothpaste if you want?”

There’s a shuffle in the middle of the room, and then Harry’s there, right in front of Louis, beaming and smelling like vanilla and rain and boy. Louis stares at him, a little dazed, and moves back into the bathroom. They brush their teeth in silence, Harry’s eyes twinkling, the tips of Louis’ ears burning a bright shade of red.

When Louis leaves the bathroom, he nearly trips on a pile of clothes on the floor, he’s so distracted. He strips off his jeans, then wavers, looking at his windows. He could close the blinds to block out the light, but. That would mean he doesn't get to see Harry’s face when he falls asleep.

He crawls under the covers, leaves the blinds open.

The neon red numbers of the alarm clock glow in the dark, capturing the slow trickle of time.

Then, there’s the creak of a door opening: footsteps pad over to the bed, and the mattress dips and adjusts to the new weight. Harry’s curls bounce as he settles in, shifting under the blanket. Louis feels his warmth like a gravitational pull.

Their eyes meet, and Harry licks his lips. “You know, when I first got here — Earth, I mean — I thought all humans would have this effect on me. I was terrified, the first time I went inside a Walmart. I thought I was going to have a nervous breakdown in the middle of buying groceries.”

Louis frowns, not sure whether he should laugh or sympathise.

“You were my first human encounter, did you know? And you burned so bright, from the very first time I saw you, it was a bit devastating. I never had any chance of resisting that.” Harry reaches out, his fingertips a gentle pressure on Louis’ cheek. “Not that I really tried.”

Louis listens, eyes wide, frozen in place. Harry’s touch is everywhere: it travels from the arch of Louis’ eyebrows to the slope of his nose, from the bow of his collarbones to the curve of his waist, and leaves a trail of goosebumps in its wake. It's so tender, Louis feels a little faint, a little lost. Like he's waiting to be devoured, like he wants to be devoured.

The pull of Harry’s warmth gets stronger, and Louis inches towards him, licking his lips, ready to close the distance—

Harry's hand shoots out to his chest, stops him. Louis’ heart skips a beat.

“Look,” Harry pushes the words out, wincing as if he's in pain. “I don't know if this is safe. I've never… done this, anything like this — never with someone like you.” The shadows that cast across his face in the half light of the bedroom make the cut of his jawline sharper, his eyes darker, wilder. “I don't want to hurt you.”

There's a lump in Louis’ throat; he feels strangely like crying. Truth is, he wouldn't be here if he cared about safe. He feels reckless, alive.

He reaches across the space between them, thumb tapping at the corner of Harry's mouth. “I'm not afraid.”

Louis leans closer, brushes his mouth against Harry’s, and Harry’s hand twitches, his fingers digging into Louis’ shirt.

“Hey,” Louis whispers, brushing a curl behind Harry’s ear, “I promise I’ll tell you if anything feels wrong. I doubt you’ll hurt me, but I’ll tell you if you do. Okay? Promise.”

Harry inhales shakily, looking torn — and then he’s leaning in, mouth warm against Louis’. It’s hurried at first, Harry’s lips moving like he’s scared he’s going to lose this, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of Louis’ mouth while he still has time, but gradually, the pace of it slows. It turns soft, and sweet, and Louis feels like he’s floating. Harry tastes golden, like starlight and sunsets and days of dreaming.

There’s a sharp, fleeting sting as Harry bites into Louis’ lip, and Louis lets out a faint whine.

Harry stills, and Louis can feel the curve of his smile against his mouth before Harry draws back a little. “Thinking about work again?” he quips, eyes dancing.

Louis scoffs and buries his face in the pillow. “Shut up.”

A gentle touch of lips on his neck, a low whisper in his ear, “You are the most exquisite thing I've ever seen. Please don’t hide from me.”

It’s unbearable, the tenderness in Harry’s voice, the softness in his touch; he touches Louis like Louis is a marvel, like he’s something to be cherished. Louis shivers and turns back towards Harry, slips his fingers under Harry’s shirt to play along his back.

They kiss until the first signs of morning trickle in through the window, the thrill of bird song mixing with the steadily growing hum of traffic. Louis falls asleep resting his head on Harry’s chest, Harry’s arms around him.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic I've ever written so um, if you hate it don't tell me?
> 
> If you didn't hate it, [here's a link for the tumblr post I made](http://aheavenlyrush.tumblr.com/post/166307863419), in case you want to check it out.
> 
> The title is from Arcade Fire's Half Light I.
> 
> :)


End file.
